“That wild stuff…Winston was getting old…you know how the parts that been hurt, they turn into slow aches and they’re heavy. I’d see him getting out of bed in the morning and it was like he was wearing shackles and chains. At least until he got moving.” She gave me a once-over. She said, “You’re looking good, like you’re hardly getting old, but what’s it like in the morning for you? Do all the parts that been hurt, are they right there keeping you company when you head for the bathroom, when you try to put your pants on, when you bend down to tie your shoes?”

“The ones in my heart,” I said.

“Yes. I see the sadness in you.”

“Yes.”

“You got religion?”

“No. No, I’d say I don’t.”

“It could help.”

I thought about what religion I did have. Talking trees, screeching ravens, trickster gods, pagan doomsayers, and death-lovers. Even though I’d met them, been with them, spoke to them, and heard them speak to me, I’d place odds that they were hallucinations. If pressed, I’d say the same about her religion. About anyone’s. “Well,” I said, “Well…tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re here for.”

“I want to know…I want to know if, if there was money, and if Owen was stealing it.”

I was sure she had more to say. I prompted her, “And?”

“Who killed him?”

“I have a question for you…Did Winston, shortly before he died, talk to you about a job, a special job, for a lot of money?”

“Yes. We were talking about our bills. I was being worrisome. He said he was going to fix things. That business was about to get a lot better.”

“Did he say what it was? Did he say anything specific?”

“No.”

“That it might be extreme or dangerous?”

“No, nothing like that. What? What do you know?”

I found myself not wanting to tell her that her husband might have been cutting a deal to be a contract killer. The only thing I knew for a fact was that he hadn’t done it. Instead, I said, “Owen thinks it was a jealous husband.”

“He’s a lying, scandalizing man. I told you, I’m no fool. I know what men do. And I know that in his time, Winston did his share and maybe more. But I know that he wasn’t stealing around…oh…for quite a while.”

I stood up, took a few steps, making a half circle, until I was facing her. “Come on, Eddie, how can you be sure?”

She paused and pursed her lips, then let it pop out, “Because I put one of those apps on his phone.”

“What kind of app?”

“Spyware. I could see almost everything. Facebook, Messenger, his phone calls, Instagram, email, where he went. All of it.”

“Did you tell the police?”